The Depression Fox

A lifetime of stories locked away in the memory box,

For I can’t stand the bite of the depression fox,

Its teeth are razor-sharp and it snarls at my wounds,

Its red eyes tell me lies and sing them like sweet tunes,

Dear Callum: I don’t really think I even believe that you’re gone

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Greystones you are

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You’re 16. Diagnosis is like suddenly being allowed to try to free yourself from a straitjacket

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The fox has followed me for most of my life,

From my lows to when I flew high like a kite,

It stalks me from the darkest corners of all rooms,

A small animal with a big black shadow that looms,

To others the orange fox is cute and fluffy,

With some even saying it reminds them of a puppy,

But to me it’s more like a big brown grizzly bear,

Who never ever seems to fight fair,

But I’ve grown used to his unwanted presence,

And we spend time together watching the skies crescent,

We may never be friends but we will always be together,

The hard stone and the light feather.